


A Consequence of Omission

by thelivingbird



Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, The Book of Dust - Philip Pullman
Genre: Gen, only to be interrupted by sitting around and talking about things, shameless sitting around and thinking about things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:13:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25713355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelivingbird/pseuds/thelivingbird
Summary: What was inherited, what was not, and how to deal with it.Post-HDM, Pre-TBOD
Relationships: Lyra Belacqua & Thorold
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	A Consequence of Omission

For the first few weeks, Lyra had hardly thought about either of them. If she did, it was with a passing concern: A shadow moving out of the corner of her eye. A woman passing by with macaque daemon. A young boy on the Jordan staff. A memory reminding her that either one of them could arrive at any moment unannounced.

Four months later, the Master spoke to Lyra quietly as he told her that there was an ongoing missing persons investigation. No one in Brytain had seen or heard from Marisa Coulter or Asriel Belacqua. Apparently, even her mother’s brother had been contacted for questioning and he claimed to know nothing as well. Lyra was shocked to discover she had an uncle or any other relatives, but she wasn’t eager to meet any more family. If there already weren’t enough reasons to _not_ visit Geneva, he was another.

It wasn’t long before investigators came to talk to Lyra. The Master refused to leave her alone with them, staying in the room as half the morning wasted away with a tedious line of questioning. Lyra didn’t have to or need to lie. No, she hadn’t seen her parents. No, neither of them has contacted her. Though, she admitted, that wasn’t completely out of character. Still, as Pan liked to remind Lyra when they were alone, Mrs. Coulter wouldn’t have let her claws out of her so easily.

A year had passed. And a second and a third. Nothing from her father, either. Not that she expected much from him anymore, but this complete silence was unnerving. She found herself having a hushed conversation with the Master, now confined to his quarters with illness.

“As far as I know they’re both still labeled as missing.”

“They’re gone, aren’t they? Truly gone?” Lyra had pulled a chair by his bedside. There was no one in the room, but she continued to whisper.

“They could be hiding in another country. From what you’ve told me, it seems to me that would be wise. I don’t think Brytain would welcome either of them back.”

“Maybe they’re somewhere else,” she trailed off.

The Master gave Lyra an inquisitive look, but he learned earlier that she no longer appreciated being pushed for information. “After all this time, we can assume… well, it has to be at least ten years before that can go on record. Another ten before it can be declared legally.”

Lyra thought of the warning, what would happen if someone stayed in a foreign world for too long, “I’ll have to wait that long to know?”

“For it to be on record, but Lyra, your peace can come sooner than that.”

“Yes,” her voice was hardly louder than a breath, “but to not know what happened. Or why, or when, or how.” Pan circled himself around her ankle. 

“You’re taken care of here,” The Master squeezed her hand. “No matter what comes from this.”

It was agonizing waiting for the conflict to come. The miraculous reappearance. Something inexplicable and awful to show up at her door. The only thing that ever happened was a notice sent to Lyra that the investigation was closed for the foreseeable future. The Master urged Lyra to make her peace, and at his funeral she promised him she would find it.

She needed to cut her losses and her ties. They gave her nothing so she in turn would give them nothing. Lyra let her hair grow down to her elbows to weigh down her father’s loose curls into nearly straight hair. Then after a year with that, she tired of the upkeep and gave herself a chop. She experimented with make-up techniques to change the look of her features, but the patience required to transform every morning was not something she could keep up. When she needed new clothes, she deliberately stayed away from the styles she thought her mother would like for her. That ended up tiring her out as well. Trying to disguise one parent would lead to the emphasis of another.

Pan teased her, “You’re giving them all your energy, you know.”

Lyra was examining a strand of her hair in the mirror, “Hm? Maybe.”

“You never thought about yourself this way before. Everyone else thinks about themselves as themselves.”

She said nothing, just kept examining herself in the mirror.

“We’re safe.”

Lyra’s fingers clenched around the strand of hair, “I just wish I could get them out of me! Before, I remember being so proud when people would compare me to him, and when we were living with her, I remember _wanting_ to look more like her. She had a picture of herself at my age, and Pan, lately I’ve been seeing her more and more.”

“Did I settle as a snow leopard? A golden monkey?”

“That’s different.”

“You’re obsessing over your hair, the shape of your eyebrows, your nose, your mouth. You’re being vain.”

“Like-“

“Oh, shut it. You didn’t turn into either of them. You’re not going to.”

Lyra began tracing the grooves of the wood of the mirror, “Ma Costa said we can’t change who we are. I just wish I didn’t see them when I looked in the mirror. If I had to inherit something, I wish it was all the money.” She smiled. “Maybe we should write to my uncle. He might have gotten it all.”

“I’m not looking forward to meeting more of her family.”

Lyra flopped onto the bed. “Do you think they went to another world? I assumed they must have. And if they did, if they’re not dead already they’re dying. You know, I never realized that I always assumed wherever they went they were together. Why would I think that?”

Pan crawled up to the end of the bed, “They disappeared at the same time.”

“Could be lots of explanations. There was a war, after all.”

“If it was in some battle, someone saw them die. At least someone would know. Why would anyone keep that from us? To hurt us?”

“I don’t know, Pan. It wouldn’t be impossible for either of them to change their identities. Maybe they ran away and changed their appearances. Maybe they decided to start over and have another kid. Do you think I have a little sibling out there?”

“Neither of them was ever the domestic type, I find that hard to imagine.” Pan laughed, but Lyra’s expression didn’t change. “Why do you keep holding on to these ideas that they survived?”

“I can’t explain it. They don’t feel dead. Not completely. Certainly not in the way we saw those people after the land of the dead. But I don’t feel like they’re alive either. It just feels confused. Even if they were in this world and living some new life, I could go forward with it, you know. And if they’re dead, fine, but I can’t seem to believe either. It doesn’t make sense, I know.”

“Maybe it is neither. Maybe you’re right.” 

“No, it’s not possible.”

“Did we ever think multiple worlds was possible? Did we think we’d destroy the Authority? Save Dust?”

“Don’t talk nonsense, Pan.” She rolled over and faced the wall. Pan took that as his signal and hopped off the bed. Lyra was pretending to fall asleep, so Pan matched his counterpart and curled up on the floor.

Perhaps all it took was saying it out loud. Lyra began to think about her parents less and less. If pressed for an honest answer, although Pan wouldn’t dare, she would keep to the fact that she didn’t know what happened. In school, she invented her half-truth: They died when she was very young and it caused her great pain to speak about it. A forlorn look off into the distance and that was that from anyone looking to pry. People feared death too much to push her for anything more.

Inside, Lyra was learning that she was only at the beginning of a constant negotiation. A series of realizations and private confessions followed by a strong wave of forgetfulness. The amnesia was needed as the revelations were so humiliating, they couldn’t even be shared with Pan. Lyra would lie in bed feeling weak and desperate. She thought she had done away with those childish things that night on the mountain. These unwelcome jolts would occasionally infiltrate the daylight hours: a friend pointing out old photos of St. Sophia alumnae and their funny hairstyles. A familiar name being referenced in an academic text.

“In looking at the work of Beryl, we can see the influence of his theories in more modern theologians. For instance, Belacqua-“

“Belacqua was nothing more than an eccentric who asked big questions, but never provided any answers. Hypothesis, yes, but nothing grounded.”

Lyra startled at the name. She had reached a personal record at putting thoughts of either parent away. She knew which topics to ignore and which corners of the university to avoid. For all intents and purposes, Lyra had removed the distasteful history from her daily life. This was an unwelcome surprise.

“He was one of the most revolutionary-“

“Revolutionary? Rich aristocrat who liked drinking, traveling, and married women.”

Half the class smirked while the rest let out a chuckle at the common dig. Lyra attempted to keep herself steady as her eyes darted around the room to read her classmates’ reactions. No one was looking at her. Lyra closed her eyes and internally expressed gratitude to late Svalbard king’s gesture.

“Name one thing Belacqua actually did for experimental theology other than pilfer some goods from around the globe.”

Pan turned to look at Lyra. He was surprised by her outburst. So was she. The class responded to her comment with more knowing chuckles. They had no reason to suspect her. Half of them had known her for over a year and hardly had a reason to suspect her deception. Not that Lyra would ever describe it as deception, only omission. Though now, with this short performance she supposed she had dipped her toe in deceit.

_Just like-_

No. No one would ever say such a thing to her. Pan was right. She was being vain by examining her every feature and habit. No one was looking that deeply. No one knew to. Everyone who could was dead or long distances away with no intention to come and disturb her in Oxford. Things weren’t the same as when she was a child. She didn’t stand out anymore. She didn’t need to explain herself.

“Well,” the professor rubbed her brow, “Belacqua saw much in his short time. Who knows what he could have done if he lived a full lifetime? And it is true that eccentricity doesn’t necessarily bring genius, but it certainly brings notability. Beryl was an eccentric himself, which brings me back to the topic of his influence.”

What a thrill to hang exposed by a thread and remain unbothered by the chance of being cut loose into freefall. She put herself out there, and no one thought to take the bait.

One day, someone did. An old man that Lyra assumed to have withered away long ago. Although the man was certainly withering, there he stood propped up with a cane in the middle of the day. Thorold.

“Little Lyra?” He limped toward her. She could dodge out of his reach with just a few moments, but she stood stuck to the spot. “Look at you.”

Pan took a few steps forward before skittering back. Thorold’s pinscher daemon dropped her head, embarrassed.

“Ah, the state of me,” Thorold shook his head. “I’m sorry to startle you, can we go somewhere to talk?”

Lyra struggled to get out her words, “Is he with you?”

Thorold looked confused. He eyed his daemon searching for an answer. “What do you mean?”

“Is Asriel with you?”

“No,” he shook his head confounded, “I haven’t seen him since last I saw you.”

“Oh, of course.”

“Do you have time to sit with me for a while? I’ve been meaning to reach out to you.”

“Well, I should be meeting with a friend soon.” It wasn’t a complete lie. She did have plans with Dick later today, but that was hours from now, not minutes.

“Ah, that’s alright.”

“But,” Lyra couldn’t believe herself, “I think I can talk. Only for a moment.”

“Thank you,” he bowed his head. The gesture made Lyra’s stomach turn. She wanted to kick his cane to the ground and weep for him at the same time. “Let’s have some food over there, you look faint.”

Pan eagerly padded along as Thorold led the way. Lyra kept her position in the middle of the walkway for a moment before breaking out of her daze. The old man had known her for longer than anyone else still living. She, on the other hand, didn’t know him too well, but he knew all about her life and her history. Lyra felt as if someone carefully carved open the top of her skull and was taking a peek inside.

Thorold massaged his cane hand as they waited for their food. Lyra had spent the first few minutes in near silence, giving one-word answers to his questions: how was her health, how was her studies, how was the weather.

“Forgive me for staring, it’s just been so long and your face brings back many memories.”

“How often did we spend time together?” Lyra mumbled into her drink.

“Not often at all, it’s just that I knew your father since he was a baby. Watching him grow, watching you grow, was always a source of pride for me. Hearing about your own recent adventures north, and your studies at St. Sophia’s. It brings me a sense of peace.”

“You’ve heard of my trip north?”

“To the consul of the witches, no?”

“Who, who told you? How do you know about that?”

“I didn’t know if you would want to hear from me, but I’ve spent my life serving Belacquas and selfishly, I felt like family.”

“I’m not a Belacqua,” she said forcefully.

“Yes,” Thorold looked down to the table, “I heard you’ve been using a different name.”

“Who are these people you keep hearing things from? Why are they watching me?”

Thorold dropped his voice lower, “Lyra, there are still eyes on you. Not all trustworthy. You still have friends out there watching out for you, myself included. I want to make sure your safe. I promised your father.”

Lyra scoffed, “What can you do for me? You’re a decaying old man. My father dropped you the minute the situation required more than having someone serve him his tokay or run a hot bath. You were a glorified nanny for a spoiled brat with delusions of grandeur.”

He didn’t even flinch at the words. “That may be so.” His voice was so soft and delicate and it made Lyra blush with shame. She thought she would go deaf with the sound of her own blood pumping in her ears until the plates of food were placed in front of them. In the same tone of voice, Thorold said “Thank you.”

Pan scratched at the outside of Lyra’s shoe. She looked at his place hidden below and sighed.

“I just didn’t expect to see you here.” She imagined Pan scoffing under the table. Later, she would subject to his mocking of her faux apology.

“I’m sorry I didn’t send word. In all honesty, I couldn’t make up my mind whether or not I would go through with seeing you.”

“Well,” Lyra cut into her food, “I thought I was done with you all.”

“I didn’t mean to bring back any painful memories. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing!” Lyra rested her head in her hand after yelling out.

“I’m sorry,” Thorold laughed a belly laugh, “I’m truly sorry. You can’t expect me to be so fragile when it comes to tending to a hot temper, now can you?”

The comment threw her off balance. The old man was clutching his sides cackling with glee. Not long ago she thought he would topple with a gentle breeze, and now he was mocking her with ease.

“You old bat,” Lyra started laughing herself, “Were you trying to needle me this whole time?”

“No, I have no need for all that.”

“So, you’re really just here to see how I am? Check up on me?”

“Is that so surprising?”

“Actually, yes.”

“Mm, so I figure you didn’t receive any letter or the sort from him?”

“No,” Lyra was surprised with how angry she still sounded from the fact of it, “Nothing from _her_ either. The Master told me they’re probably dead.”

“Yes, they probably are,” the humor had left his voice again, “Silence wouldn’t be surprising from your father, but your mother did like to make her presence known. And if she’s gone, so is he.”

“I assumed the same, but felt a little foolish.”

“Believe me, if that woman has shuffled off, Lord Asriel would follow behind her. Not for any romantic dramatics, mind you, but that pair had a habit of tying each other up in the more heavily punctuated moments of their lives.”

He still referred to him as _Lord Asriel_ , Lyra noted. The man who moments earlier was calling the Belacquas his family. She pitied him greatly, but he got to know who her parents were, outside of their weak attempts at parenthood. He bore witness to their most reckless and honest actions. She envied that access to the truth. 

Thorold took a sip of his drink, “Ah, well, they were good entertainment at the cost of going grey.”

“Can I tell you something strange?”

“Of course, I’m quite used to it.”

Pan had crawled up to the arm of the chair, listening and watching Thorold attentively.

“Sometimes I don’t think my parents are dead.”

Pan jerked his head back at the comment. Lyra and he hardly talked of the idea after that one night, if it all, and now she was spilling it to a man she hadn’t seen in years.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not that I think they’re alive. I know they’re not. Part of them feels, I don’t know how to explain it. Like there’s still a pulse, somewhere out there.” For the second time that day, Lyra blushed. “I’m losing my mind.”

“This universe has surprised me with stranger things. I wouldn’t be shocked if some part of us survived after we’re gone.”

_In a way you don’t realize_ , she wanted to say, but that wasn’t conversation for the here and now. This wasn’t what she was suggesting, but she didn’t know how to articulate herself further. Besides, why bother the man with a _feeling_. “Yes, I guess you’re right.”

Lyra had returned her attention to her food.

“If you don’t mind me saying…” Thorold spoke slowly.

“I look like them, I know.” Lyra rolled her eyes. “I spent some time trying not to, but what can be done?”

“You act like the both of them too.”

“Thanks.”

“Ah well, don’t be upset. I’m not trying to defend anyone or change your opinion. I’m sure that hardened long ago. How we come in to this world, if you don’t mind me being so crass miss, is the consequence of two people fumbling around in the bedsheets.” He raised his hands in mock surrender. “But when I see him or her in you, there’s something so deliberate about the way it comes across your face and your bearing. A stubbornness, which you won’t believe me when I say it, that I admire.”

“This isn’t exactly a point of pride, Thorold, but what _I_ admire is your ability to spin things sound so positively.” 

“You parents made themselves into the people they wanted to be and it looks to me you’re doing much the same. It’s good to know our history, but not so helpful to drown in it.”

Part of Lyra despised his earnestness, even more so despised how effective it was on her. What had this man been doing all these years? Sitting in the North? How long did he wait for her father to return before he gave up and returned to Brytain?

“Thorold are you going to be alright? Do you need anything?”

Now this made him angry. Thorold pounded his fist on the table and let out a huff. He glared at Lyra for a few moments while trying to regain his composure, “Now I came here to check on _you_. Don’t you go on worrying about me. I’m doing just fine taking care of myself.”

“I only figured since you said the Belacquas were like family…”

“There’s no more Belacquas, miss! I’m an employee, happily retired.”

“Yes, alright. Sorry.”

“I don’t mean to snap at you. I have no need to be fussed over, that’s all.”

“Of course.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Lyra could see his daemon rest her head on his thigh too soothe him. He reached out a hand on her hand and began to breathe slower. His eyes were darting around the room now looking at the rest of patrons with disdain. Once again, he began massaging his hand to prepare to leave, Lyra assumed. She had never considered what Thorold lost that night. She hardly even thought about him herself, if only to be tangentially connected to thoughts of her father. _He’s been alone, without family, for years. Just as long as you._ Without thinking, Lyra reached for Pan.

“How did you come to work for the Belacquas, anyway?”

Thorold blinked at her, “Well, like any other job I suppose. Saw it in the post.”

He told her about getting the job, meeting her grandparents with the screaming two year old in their arms, the day of her uncle’s birth, her father’s bullies, the day Stelmaria settled, her father’s first independent journey North, the night her father first took her mother home and tried to hide it from Thorold, the first time he stood up to her father, the day she was born, the day her uncle died, the Great Flood, all of it. All of one man’s life wrapped in one family. She could see why he felt compelled to seek her out, but she wished his story was more than a man in the wings. She was sure it was, but he couldn’t see that, or no longer could. He wouldn’t listen to her though. Perhaps he was thinking the same thing about her.

Thorold was paying for the food, at his insistence, before saying goodbye.

“You let me talk on and on, Little Lyra. I didn’t get to hear about all the trouble you’re surely causing at St. Sophia’s.”

“I can’t be late.” She didn’t want to miss her appointment with Dick.

“Yes, of course.” There was that earnestness in him again. It made her want to slap him across the face. “Thank you for seeing me.”

Lyra just nodded and gave a tense smile. She stayed put as the man walked off on his way. She didn’t even ask after him to where he was staying to feign some sort of pretense that she intended to keep in touch.

“That was,” Pan started.

“Unsettling,” Lyra began walking down her path. “I don’t know what he’s hanging on to. Where do you think he’s going after this? Sends a chill down my spine.”

“I liked seeing him.”

“That will be the last of it, don’t you think?”

Pan didn’t respond. Lyra reassured herself. Thorold was a leftover that someone forgot to get rid of. Now, she had addressed it and they can both move on. There would be no more of this talk. _No one is coming._ It was a whisper that terrified her when she was a girl alone on a mountain, and now it was her salvation. _No one is coming_. And Lyra Silvertongue would do as she pleases.


End file.
